


soul meets body

by cresswell



Series: soulmates [5]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hostage Situations, The Host AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 06:25:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3518753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresswell/pseuds/cresswell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I think I like you humans more.”</p>
<p>He looks a little shocked, and she can’t blame him. “Isn’t that… like… treason? Or betrayal?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know. But no other Soul knows that I’m here.” She feels her mouth twist up into a smirk. “You make a good kidnapper.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	soul meets body

She is born into this world in a burst of bright light and sterile air. For a moment, she panics, trying to claw her way back into the body she had been in before- the world had been cold and she had been lonely, but she had been okay with her solitude. Now, though, it has all been ripped away from her.

"We have a pulse," a voice says above her, in a language unlike any she's spoken before. The vowels are soft and flat, the consonants hard, and she understands the words because this body understands the words. Her skin feels hot and sticky and she's sitting bolt upright without meaning to, all the colors around her vibrant and popping.

"Where am I?" she asks in a voice that is not her own. "What kind of world is this?"

The other female in the room smiles at her. "Welcome to Earth."

* * *

They ask her what her name is. "I do not remember," she tells them, because she doesn't. She hardly remembers anything, and it scares her, how it's all slipping away. When she prods in this body's mind, she discovers that its name was once Clarke. It sounds like an ugly name, short and sharp, but she claims it because she does not have another one to take.

The female Soul- Diana- keeps her in a room for hours at a time, pacing back and forth while firing questions. Clarke doesn't see how it will help. She doesn't know anything. If she did, she would have told them by now.

"There must be something," Diana hisses, leaning her hands on the table between them. "The human was spotted around others."

"Perhaps she's dead," Clarke says. She can't hear a single thing from the body. It's hollow and distant, like an abandoned home. This body's soul is long gone. "I can't feel her anywhere."

"You're not trying hard enough!" Diana snaps, slapping her palm against the tabletop. Clarke jumps. "Other Souls who have been uncooperative have been exiled."

"What right do you have to banish them from Earth?" Clarke asks, genuinely shocked. "That is not the way of our kind."

"Neither is withholding information."

"I have done all I can for you," Clarke says after a long pause, standing up and brushing her hair back. She hasn't had hair in years- fur and scales and gills, but not hair. "If I find something, you'll be the first to know."

"We're not done here," Diana snaps, but Clarke twists the doorknob anyway.

"Yes, we are."

* * *

Her favorite thing about Earth is the bodies. They're beautiful. They come in so many different shades and shapes and sizes, each so fragile but yet so strong in different ways. Her own body is mildly aesthetically pleasing. It's small and soft, but the eyes are bright blue, as they are for all Souls, and there are lines around the mouth that suggest either too much smiling or too much frowning. She's not sure which.

Her favorite body to look at is the one in her dreams.

She's not sure who it is, because her body's soul is gone, and the dreams are just wisps of smoke left behind. But it's a boy, and his hair is a little long and his eyes are wide and naive. He wears a hat pulled down over his ears in the dreams- memories? She's not sure- and there's a scar on his abdomen, ugly and puckered, like he was once run through with something.

She wakes up sweaty and anxious, grasping the empty air for a boy who isn't there.

* * *

Earth is beautiful- not only because of the humans, but because of the plants. Nature, she thinks Diana called it. 

Her favorite plant is called a sunflower. She draws it sometimes, because apparently this body has a talent for art, and she has no intention of letting that go to waste. The part of Earth she's in is warm and she sits outside in crisp dresses she finds in her closet, the fabric smoothed out against the grass.

So many new words. So many new senses. She learns that coffee smells delicious while vinegar does not. She learns that the sun is too bright for this body’s eyes unless she places tinted glasses on her nose. She learns that some foods taste good together while others do not.

Her wrist is jerked out from under her, making her topple onto her back as she is suddenly dragged away. She tries to scream- fight or flight; she’d read about it somewhere- but there’s something over her mouth. A hand. A large, tanned hand. Her other arm is yanked roughly behind her as well and she cries in pain against the palm. It’s damp with sweat and her breaths. She can’t see who the person is, and everything around her is still, the quiet now eerie as opposed to relaxing.

She thrashes with all her might, managing to pull her knee up hard enough to smack the person in the leg. They curse quietly, the voice deep and masculine, and let go of her for one brief moment. She rolls onto her side, trying to push herself up to run away, but then there’s a hand yanking her by her hair and a fist knocking into her face.

* * *

She wakes up with warm liquid in her mouth, and when she rolls over to spit it out, she sees it’s blood. Hers, presumably. She’s lying on dirt, she thinks, but the light is so dim that it’s hard to tell. Her denim dress is streaked with grass stains and dust, and the collar of it is soaked with blood. Pushing herself to lean on her elbows, she opens her mouth to call out, but stops when she hears faint voices somewhere.

“…can’t keep her in there forever. She’s not an  _animal_.”

“She’s not your girlfriend anymore, Finn.” A second voice.

“No, that would be me.” A third voice.

The first voice speaks again. “Look, I know I agreed to this, okay? But I didn’t know it would be  _Clarke_  that you brought back.”

The second voice again. His voice is much lower. “I didn’t either! She was just sitting in the lawn. She was the only one I could grab in time. I had to.”

“We could just kill her,” the third voice says maliciously. Female.

The first boy says “out of the question” at the same time the second boy says “after all that work? No.”

Clarke drags herself to the door by digging her fingers into the dirt floor. She feels so weak, like her bones are hollow or filled with sand. The door is barred with an angry-looking lock on it. She grips a bar in each hand, pressing her face against the cool metal to try and hear better. The motion rattles the lock and she freezes, hearing the three voices cut off suddenly.

They’ve heard her.

She scrambles backwards with her heels and her hands, watching with wide eyes as three figures appear on the other side of the barred door. The boy at the front wraps his fingers around the bars like she had done seconds before, and his face is the one from her dreams. Her body impulsively throws itself back towards the door, crawling on hands and knees to get to this boy. “Finn. You’re Finn.”

Finn’s dark eyes widen and he steps back, stumbling into the other boy. “You know me?”

“Yes,” Clarke says, her breath heavy with adrenaline and panic. “This body knows you. This body  _loves_  you.”

Whatever had been in Finn’s eyes fades, his hands falling from the bars. Clarke is still kneeling on her knees, staring up at the other two. The other boy has a hand on his gun. Her eyes widen again.

“You grabbed me,” she says, beginning to scuttle away from this boy. “I know your hands. You  _hurt_  me.”

He looks scared or guilty for a moment before his face hardens again. “Shut up. You’ve done enough talking.”

“What is it you want from me?” Clarke asks, moving her eyes to the girl. She’s hanging back a little, watching Clarke with a wide gaze. “You didn’t take me for nothing.”

The girl smiles to herself, the expression small and private, and looks at her feet. Finn’s face screws up, but his mouth stays shut. Clarke turns her gaze back to the other boy. “Tell me.”

He thinks for a moment. “You’re our bargaining tool.”

Finn begins to protest. Clarke feels panic bubble up in her chest, so she speaks over him, trying to keep her voice steady. “Your plan is a good one, except for one thing: one Soul is not enough to save your people.” She presses her hands back to the bars, staring up at the boy. “Especially not me.”

The boy scoffs, but Clarke can tell her words are having an effect. “Don’t play modest here. We know how you work-“

“Obviously not,” Clarke cuts in. “Because if you did, you’d know that as soon as you brought me to my people, they’d take your bodies as hosts.”

The girl’s hand tangles nervously at a chain around her neck, but Clarke keeps her eyes on the dark boy. His face is a mess of expressions. “So now you’ve got a problem. You can’t make me your bargaining tool, because you’ll get taken. And you can’t let me go, because I’ll turn you in and you’ll get taken. So the question remains.” She pushes shakily to her feet, having to lean on the barred door to hold herself up. “What is it you want from me?”

The girl is smirking again. Clarke has obviously embarrassed the boy, and as a Soul, she feels bad for it. But as Clarke, she feels good, because this boy made blood trickle from her nose.

She’s too small to be intimidating, but she hopes the glow-in-the-dark effect her eyes have do the trick.

The boy is statue-still, but she can see a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Are you suggesting that we let you stay here?”

“I’m telling you that you don’t have much of a choice.”

“Do you  _want_  to stay here?”

She taps her fingertips against the bars. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. She’s too logical to know what she wants. Her eyes flicker to Finn. “This body wants to stay here.”

The boy’s jaw moves again, his eyes narrowed and on her. She doesn’t break the gaze even though she’s kind of afraid he’ll hit her again. Finally, he turns away, back to Finn and the girl. “I need to sleep on this.”

“This isn’t just up to you,” the girl says, her eyes wide and her face passionate. “The rest of us get a say, too.”

He glares at her, but to her credit, she doesn’t back down. “Raven, for now, this stays between the three of us. Got it?”

Raven shakes her head. “Everyone saw you drag her in here-“

“Just don’t talk about her,” he snaps, and now she flinches. Finn touches her wrist. The boy rakes his hands through his hair, breathing heavy, his nostrils flaring. “One of you get her some food.” With that, he sets his hand on his gun again, storming down what looks like a dirt tunnel.

Finn makes no move to follow, his hands deep in his pockets, and Raven scowls at him. “Fine, I’ll do it. Whatever you’re thinking, don’t let her out.”

“I won’t,” he calls after her retreating figure, but he sounds like he’s not so sure. Clarke watches him from the dark of her cell, having taken several steps back once Raven had left and they’d been left alone. She doesn’t quite like the way Finn’s eyes settle on her- possessively; hungrily.

“What’s that boy’s name?” She asks, because she has to do something to fill the silence.

“Bellamy,” Finn replies. “And don’t worry; he’ll come around.”

Clarke steps forward enough to peek down the tunnel Bellamy had disappeared into, but he’s already long gone. “No he won’t.”

* * *

The next morning (at least Clarke assumes it’s morning) Raven returns, her hair hanging long and damp down her back. “Sleep well?”

Clarke can’t help but feel like it’s a trick question, so she stays quiet. She hadn’t slept at all- there had been the sound of footsteps echoing off the dirt walls all night, like someone had been pacing just outside her cell.

Raven frowns at her silence. “You okay?”

Again, Clarke doesn’t say anything. The only one she trusts is Finn, and that’s only because her body knows his so well. Raven sighs impatiently, unlocking the barred door with a rusty key. Clarke’s eyes go wide. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you a break.”

“Bellamy said-“

“Bellamy’s not here at the moment,” Raven replies matter-of-factly, slipping the key back into her boot. “Come on. Even if you could hurt me, you wouldn’t want to.”

Clarke follows wordlessly. It’s not like she has much of a choice. Raven leads her down the dirt tunnel, and Clarke sees now that they’re kept alight by lanterns. Raven turns into a narrower tunnel, glancing over her shoulder at Clarke. “I don’t want anyone else to see you yet. I agree with Bellamy that we should wait until we know what we’re going to do with you.”

Clarke watches as she ducks into a room, pulling open a drawer on a battered dresser. Raven pulls out a few things and bumps the drawer shut with her hip, crossing the room to drop the items in Clarke’s arms. “That’s a change of clothes and some soap.”

The surprise must register on Clarke’s face, because Raven’s lips twitch into the hint of a smile. “Yeah, I figured you might want to bathe. Come on, the pool’s this way.”

_Pool?_  Clarke racks her body’s brain, but the only images that come up are of chlorinated holes in humans’ backyards. Surely that’s not what Raven means.

It’s not. This pool is dark and glittering, illuminated by the lanterns she’s seen everywhere. Raven grins at her, lifting her shirt off. “It looks deep, but it’s not. The bottom’s a little muddy, but it’s worth it.”

Clarke watches as she steps out of her pants and steps in, her body visibly shivering at the sudden contact. She motions for Clarke do to the same, and she does, albeit reluctantly. The water looks black from the surface, making it impossible to see the bottom, like she’s floating in ink. But her feet touch the ground and the water stops at her collarbones.

Raven reclines on the surface, her dark hair fanning out and blending in with the water. “You’re not bad, are you?”

Clarke’s not sure how to answer that. She moves her fingers through the water, watching as ripples appear on the surface, and chooses not to answer Raven. She doesn’t seem as harsh as Bellamy, but Clarke has zero experience with humans.

Raven huffs, pushing herself upright and sending a small wave of water towards Clarke. “You can talk, you know.”

“I’m unsure as to how to answer your question.”

“You Souls talk funny,” Raven notes, dipping her head back so she can rinse the soap out of her hair. “You don’t sound like us.”

“Our language is always proper,” Clarke explains, glad to be talking about something she actually understands. “We don’t use the phrases or expressions that developed outside the realm of proper grammar-“

“Yeah, yeah.” Raven flaps her hand impatiently. “I know. But Clarke, I need you to tell me something.” She floats close, her skin flecked with red in the lanterns’ light. “I need you to tell me that you don’t plan on hurting any of us while you’re here.”

Clarke blanches, her feet stumbling back on the somewhat muddy floor or the pool. “You said it yourself earlier; I couldn’t hurt you even if I wanted to.”

Raven looks dubious.

“I understand why you and your people think we’re all evil,” Clarke says. “But what you must understand is that the Souls are not violent. We have never been violent. We believe in kindness and peace. That’s why we’re here.”

Raven arches an eyebrow. “You’re invading our bodies because you believe it brings peace?”

“We believe that your people haven’t been keeping the peace,” Clarke muses, bending her legs enough to leave only her head above the surface. “You’ve been killing the earth and each other. As Souls, we inhabit planets and instill peace. That’s what we’re doing here.”

“I understand what you mean,” Raven says, her voice going gentle. “And I see how that would make sense, in theory. But Clarke, us humans aren’t like the organisms you’ve encountered on other planets. We fight back.”

“So I’ve noticed,” Clarke replies wryly, and Raven grins.

“But I guess it’s useless to try and lecture you on it. There’s not much you can do to help the Souls from here, is there?”

Clarke shrinks back a little, shaking her head. She ducks underwater before Raven can say anything more about it.

* * *

Bellamy nudges her with the butt of his gun. “I don’t need to put you in handcuffs, do I?”

Clarke’s not sure what handcuffs are, but she shakes her head anyway. Bellamy is leading her down the long dirt hallway, and she can hear voices up ahead. “Why are you letting me out?”

He prods her in the shoulder blade with his gun again, making her stumble a step or two. “Don’t worry, you’ll be back to your cell soon enough. The others were getting impatient to meet you.”

A sick feeling churns in Clarke’s stomach, and she keeps her head down and her mouth shut for the rest of the walk. Bellamy would be a calming presence, she thinks, if he didn’t dislike her so much. Even though he’s the one with the gun, she thinks he seems safer to be alone with than Finn. She thinks it’s called intuition.

The voices come closer and everything in Clarke’s stolen body is telling her to turn and run. Her muscles even tense in preparation, but Bellamy’s hand comes down on her shoulder, stopping her before she can even take a step in the opposite direction.

“Relax,” he says, his voice somewhere close to her ear. “The gun’s not for you.”

Clarke furrows her eyebrows. Why would he have a gun for the purpose of using it against other humans? It doesn’t make any sense. She tilts her head back enough to look up at him, the angle showing the sharp lines of his jaw. “Then who’s it for?”

Bellamy smiles at her for the first time. It’s just one side of his mouth tilting up, but still, she counts it. “Anyone who tries to hurt you.”

“Because I’m your insurance?”

He nudges her, this time with his elbow. “Yeah. Something like that.”

As soon as they round the edge of the tunnel, a girl is in Clarke’s face. Her eyes are dark and her hair is dark like Raven’s, but Clarke doesn’t think they’re related. Her brown eyes widen at the sight of Clarke, and she gapes at Bellamy. “Did you  _punch_  her?”

Immediately, even without looking, Clarke can sense the shift in Bellamy’s demeanor. His body closes up a little, like he’s embarrassed, and she can hear him scratching the back of his neck. “Um, yeah. I had to.”

“Unbelievable,” the girl snarls, and grabs Clarke’s wrist. “I’d like to apologize for my brother being a piece of shit.”

Clarke’s not really sure what to say. There are so many humans, all looking at her, most of them with contempt and disgust. The room they’re in isn’t a tunnel anymore; it’s wide and huge, slats in the roof casting down jagged lines of sunlight. She stays rooted to the spot, between Bellamy and his sister.

“I won’t punch you,” the girl says to Clarke, but she’s glaring at Bellamy. She tugs on her wrist. “Come on. You must be hungry.”

She is, but her body seems to be dead with nervousness. Or is it shyness? She’s not sure. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt either. The girl pulls her through the crowd, her chin held high in defiance, and Clarke has no choice but to follow wordlessly behind her.

There’s a long wooden table set up on one side of the room, and on it is a spread of food, mostly bread and vegetables. Bellamy’s sister sits down, gesturing for Clarke to do the same. “I hope you find something here you like.” She breaks off with a frown. “Or… that your body likes? I’m not sure what the correct phrasing is.”

Clarke decides it would be rude to remain silent, so she says, “Technically it’s what this body likes. But as a Soul, I like pretty much everything.”

The girl rips a chunk of bread off one of the loaves, tilting her head to the side. “I’m Octavia, by the way. Why did you choose to keep Clarke’s name?”

“Because I didn’t have another one.”

Octavia regards her wordlessly, her eyes free of the bright blue rings that mark all Souls. She’s so human. Everyone here is. Clarke fiddles with a glass of water that had magically appeared in front of her, trying not to make eye contact with any of the other humans.

Octavia narrows her eyes, pointing her fork accusingly at the other girl. “You’re wearing my clothes.”

“What?” Clarke looks down. She’s still wearing the clothes Raven had given her- a cream sweater that slips down one shoulder and a pair of gray sweatpants. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t know they were yours. I can go change-“

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Octavia laughs, her face kind. “You don’t have anything.”

Clarke shrugs uncomfortably. She appreciates Octavia’s honesty, but it’s not customary with Souls. While Souls value honesty, they value kindness and manners the most.

A leg swings over the bench and Bellamy appears next to her, sitting beside her like it’s the most natural thing. He scoops an alarming amount of broccoli onto his plate. “I’m starving.” He turns to look at Clarke, the muscles beneath his shirt moving. “How’re you holding up?”

“What?” Embarrassingly, she has to rake her gaze from the muscles on his shoulders. When she looks at his face, he’s smirking, like he caught her staring. She feels her face flush. “I’m fine.” She rubs her palms together, the action a little difficult due to the too-long sleeves. “Why is it cold down here? Where I was, it was not cold.”

Bellamy steeples his fingers, tilting his head to the side. Clarke has read enough about human body language to know that this means he’s pleased to hear her question, and pleased to answer it. “We’re a few cities north from where you were, where the climate’s a bit colder. Also, we’re underground, where the earth is cooler and wetter.”

Octavia snickers. “The humidity’s making your hair frizz, Clarke.”

It takes her a minute to rack her body’s brain for what that means. Her confusion must show on her face, because both Bellamy and Octavia begin to laugh. Her cheeks grow uncomfortably warm. “Why are you laughing at me?”

Bellamy sobers first. “There’s just so much for you to learn.”

Clarke arches an eyebrow at him. “Oh, so you find it amusing that I don’t know absolutely everything about your world and your people, even though I’ve only been here a few weeks?”

Bellamy looks surprised. “I didn’t mean-“

“Because I don’t laugh at you for having no knowledge about the seven worlds _I’ve_ been to,” she adds, her voice a little haughty, and feels a stab of satisfaction when both surprise and shame register on his face. “Do not patronize me, Bellamy. I have lived more lives than you can imagine, and I know more than you ever will.” She stands, downing the last of her water, and holds her chin high. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to speak to Raven.”

As she walks away, she can hear Octavia’s awed voice. “Oh my god, Bell, she got you  _good_.”

She laughs into the sleeve of her sweater.

* * *

The next time she sees Bellamy is when he’s dragged into the medical room. He’s hanging limply between two boys who are wild-eyed and scared, and she gets over her initial shock by pulling on rubber gloves and helping ease him onto a table. “What happened?”

“We were on a raid and ran into other people scavenging,” one of the boys- Monty- says. “They shot him before we could get away.”

Clarke’s insides twist in worry, but she pushes away the feeling and pulls up Bellamy’s shirt. The bullet’s in his stomach, but it doesn’t look like it’s hit anything important. She heaves a sigh of relief, her body sagging against the table edge. “He’s going to be fine.”

Jasper, the other boy, eyes her warily. “Are we sure she knows what she’s doing? She’s a Soul, after all.”

“ _She_  is right here,” Clarke says impatiently, bumping him roughly with her hip as she moves to get supplies. “And this body’s mind has a lot of medical knowledge.” She grabs what she needs and hurries back over, pushing her hair out of her face and getting a smear of blood on her cheek as a result. “However, I am going to need your assistance on this. Press down here…”

* * *

She’s cleaning up in the medical room when Bellamy wakes up. It’s nighttime, and most of the humans are asleep. Technically, she’s supposed to be in her cell, but Bellamy hasn’t been awake to enforce her curfew. He sits up with a groan. “What are you doing here?”

“Raven told me to help the doctors,” she says, pressing a wet cloth to his forehead. “They were ‘spread a little thin’, as she said. Although I’m not sure what that means.”

Bellamy smiles tiredly at her, reaching up to cover her hand on the cloth with his own. She tries not to jump at the contact. “It’s so strange how you understand certain things but not others.”

Clarke frowns. “I can’t access everything in this body’s mind. For instance, the only thing I remember about her life is Finn.”

Bellamy stares at her incredulously. “ _Finn?_ ”

“Yes. I dream about him almost every night.”

At the look on his face, she suddenly feels as though she’s over-shared. She doesn’t know why, though; she was just telling him the truth. She pulls her hand away and instead presses lightly on the bandage covering his stomach, gaging his pain based on the amount of swear words he uses. “Is it bad?”

“No,” Bellamy says, too quickly, and she can see that his teeth are gritted.

“You’re lying,” she says matter-of-factly, turning on her heel to rummage through the bottles of pills in a bin on a table. “I’ll give you some painkillers.”

“Save them for others.”

“Nonsense. You’re their leader. It won’t do anyone any good to see you in pain.” She finds the correct bottle and unscrews the lid, knocking a few out into her palm. “Do you still have water?”

Bellamy nods, so she hands him the pills and watches as he swallows them. He tosses his head back to do so, his neck arching beautifully, and Clarke finds her skin feeling all hot.

She steps back. “Well, you should probably get some sleep.”

He leans back against his pillow, his skin coated in sweat. She can tell that he’s already struggling to keep his eyes open. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“I’m surprised you haven’t told me to go back to my cell.”

He half-smiles, his eyelashes dark against the golden tone of his cheeks. “You don’t have to go there anymore.”

Clarke’s stomach goes all fluttery and she presses her hand there, trying to subdue it. She pushes his messy curls off his forehead with her other hand, watching the way his lips twitch when she does so. “Goodnight.”

* * *

Bellamy makes a full recovery, as expected, and he growls and glowers at her when she tells him he’s on mandatory bed rest. “I have a  _job_ , Clarke,” he says, exasperated. “I have people to protect.”

“Raven and Finn will keep everyone under control.” The two made a good team. Raven, although kind, could be a complete force to be reckoned with, whereas Finn was quiet and calm in his ways. “I’ll even bring you daily reports if you’d like.”

“But then I’ll be sad,” Bellamy whines, “because I’ll know exactly what I’m missing out on.”

“I am sorry you’re upset, but I have to make sure you heal.”

Bellamy glances up at her through his eyelashes. She knows she’s naïve, but she can also tell that he’s up to something. “Please, Clarke. I know you’re a good doctor and everything, but can’t you make an exception? For me?”

Clarke’s stomach goes all wonky again and she frowns, pressing her palm over the expanse of it, able to feel the heat of her skin through the thin cotton of her shirt. “No, I can’t.”

Bellamy groans and rolls his eyes. “God, you’re such a  _good person_.”

She quirks her lips into a confused but pleased smile, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “I don’t understand. Why are you upset that I’m good?”

He looks like he wants to laugh again, but he holds it back, and she silently praises him for not laughing at her. He hadn’t done it since the first time when she’d gone off on him, but still, she can sometimes tell the urge is there.

“No, I’m not actually upset.” He tilts his head to the side, squinting his eyes, and Clarke feels like he’s burning holes into her skin. “Do the Souls have any native phrases?”

“What?”

“You know. We’re always saying things that you don’t understand, phrases and idioms that don’t make sense to you. But your species must have something like that too, right?”

She’s surprised at the subject jump, but she mulls it over nonetheless. In other lives, she’d been in forms where it had been impossible to communicate with words, but there had been a few where she’d been able. She sits on the edge of his bed. “There is one. There’s no literal translation for it, but the gist is this: ‘May we meet again.’”

Bellamy goes quiet, and she busies herself by checking his temperature and blood pressure. “It’s something we used to say when a life was coming to an end,” she explains. “Well, when we were in bodies that could communicate, that is. We’d say ‘May we meet again’ in the hopes of finding each other in the next world.”

Bellamy’s features have changed, and he’s looking at her with a soft expression, making her self-conscious. “Did you ever say it to anyone?”

“I don’t remember,” she says honestly. “I have been alive for a very long time, and I don’t remember much of it.” She shrugs off the sudden solemnity that’s settled on her shoulders, giving him a smile as she redoes his bandages. “But it doesn’t matter. If the saying does invoke fate, then I will find them here, regardless of whether or not I remember.”

He’s playing with a loose thread on his blanket, looking down, his eyelashes casting shadows across his face. “What if you’ve already found them?”

She’s at a bit of a loss for words. The beating in her stomach is going wild, and she finds herself chewing the skin on her lip like she’s seen Raven do numerous times. “I have not known many Souls since arriving here,” she says finally. “Only the ones at the facility.”

Bellamy shakes his head slightly, blinking, like he’s trying to get himself to focus again. “Right. Of course.” He still keeps his gaze on where he’s winding the thread around his fingers. “Not many options, huh?”

“No. But it is not as if it matters.” He looks up at her in puzzlement. “I think I like you humans more.”

He looks a little shocked, and she can’t blame him. “Isn’t that… like… treason? Or betrayal?”

“I don’t know. But no other Soul knows that I’m here.” She feels her mouth twist up into a smirk. “You make a good kidnapper.”

Bellamy flushes and she laughs, the chaos in her stomach subsiding slightly. He looks bashful and embarrassed and it takes him a moment to speak again. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“I know,” she says. “It’s okay.”

“I shouldn’t have punched you. Or pointed a gun at you. Or kept you in a cell like an animal.”

She’s quiet for a moment, trying to summon the correct response, and Bellamy fidgets, like each second of silence is driving him up the wall. “I am sure you did what you thought was best.”

He looks surprised. She’s not sure why; she’s always been quick to reassure. He shrugs uncomfortably and she can see that there are bags under his eyes. “I still feel bad.”

She wets a washcloth and rings it out before draping it across his forehead, pushing his fringe back. His eyes flutter shut. “Don’t. You should get some sleep.”

“Okay.” He’s mumbling, his lips going a little slack with exhaustion. “Goodnight, Clarke.”

If his eyes were open, he would be making fun of the way her face feels like it’s burning. “Goodnight, Bellamy.”

Her stomach erupts into chaos.

* * *

Octavia is surrounded by other people at breakfast the next morning, and Clarke sidles up to them uncertainly. Most people have gotten over their prejudice of her, but she still gets whispered threats every now and then. Bellamy actually once punched a guy for coming at her with a knife.

But she can see now that she recognizes some of the faces- Jasper and Monty wave at her, making her smile timidly in response. Octavia pats the spot on the bench next to her. “What’s up? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Oh.” Clarke touches her hand to her face. Her skin  _does_  feel warm. “Do you have ghosts here? Why would I have seen one?”

Octavia’s lips twitch. “No, it’s an expression. I just mean, what’s wrong?”

“I think I’m ill,” she whispers, close to her ear. She’s not sure why, but it’s embarrassing to her. She doesn’t want to be fretted over more than she already is.

Octavia’s eyes widen. “What? Are you hurt?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you not know?”

Clarke clutches at her stomach. “My stomach feels weird. I don’t think I’m hurt, but it feels too warm and jumbled.”

Octavia’s eyebrows are climbing towards her hairline. “When did this start?”

“I don’t know. It comes and goes.”

“Mhm.” Octavia’s smirking now. “I see.”

“What?” Clarke asks, panicked.

“Well, I can tell you you’re definitely not sick,” Octavia says, swinging one of her legs over the bench so she’s straddling it and facing Clarke. “You do have a bad case of something, though. Here on Earth, we call it a crush.”

Clarke frowns. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

Octavia laughs, not unkindly, and pats Clarke’s shoulder. “They hardly ever are. But you’ll be fine. It’ll go away eventually.”

“Octavia, I don’t understand.”

“You will one day, young grasshopper,” she sighs, grinning big and standing. “I’ve gotta go mess with my brother. Take care of yourself.”

Clarke frowns in confusion and frustration, turning back to the table. When she sees Jasper and Monty looking at her with raised eyebrows, she says, “I don’t understand Octavia.”

“Join the club,” Jasper says.

* * *

“Clarke?”

Bellamy’s voice echoes off the walls of the dim cave, and Clarke startles, letting out a small sound of surprise. Bellamy speaks again, sounding a bit more urgent. “Clarke? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she calls back, curling her toes in the muddy floor and pressing a hand over her racing heart. “You just scared me.”

“Ah. Sorry.” He sounds like he’s hovering just outside the entrance to the pool. “Are you- can I come in?”

“Of course,” she answers, pulling her hair over one shoulder to semi-brush it out with her fingers. She’s tugging at a knot a little too roughly, glaring at it in the dim lighting, when Bellamy speaks again, this time closer. “ _Jesus_ , Clarke!”

“What?” She asks, alarmed, looking up to find him with his back to her. “Is everything alright?”

“No,” he mutters, running his fingers through his hair. “You said I could come in!”

“Well, you can!” She crosses her arms over her chest. “It’s not a private pool!”

“No, but you- you-“ he breaks off, kicking the toe of his boot against the rock wall. She wishes desperately that the lighting was better so she could read his body language. “I can’t… see you like that.”

“I don’t understand.”

“ _Without your clothes,_  Clarke,” he says, and it comes out a little harsh. She ducks the bottom half of her face beneath the water, blowing bubbles through her nose. “It’s not- you- we don’t do that. Humans don’t, I mean. Yeah.”

“That’s so foolish,” Clarke says. “You all know what your bodies look like.” He doesn’t say anything and she pulls at the ends of her hair anxiously. “I apologize. I didn’t know. I’ve only been here with Raven, and it didn’t matter…”

“I know,” Bellamy says, his voice sounding odd. “I- It’s okay. Whatever. Just- I need to talk to you, so can you just… um… duck a little?”

She frowns, submerging herself up to her collarbones. “Is this alright?”

He turns around slowly, his face somewhat pained, and eyes her for a moment too long. “Um. Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

She arches an eyebrow.

“Right.” He’s close enough now that she can see he’s blushing bright red as he sits on the edge of the pool, dipping his feet in. “So, I was thinking this morning, and I was wondering where you’ve been sleeping?”

“My cell.” She plays with the water, making ripples with her hands. “I know you said I didn’t have to go there anymore, but… there wasn’t really anywhere else. I would stay with Raven, but she stays with Finn, and I… well.” She raises an eyebrow at Bellamy. “I don’t want to get in the middle of  _that_.”

Bellamy laughs, his face lighting up beautifully. “Good call.”

“So I was going to stay with Octavia, but she stays with Monroe, and they only have two beds.” She shrugs, twisting her hair over the opposite shoulder. “It’s not a big deal.”

His gaze follows her hair, her arms, her hands. It takes him a minute to drag it back up to her face. “You can stay with me.”

“What?” She’s so startled she actually takes a few steps back. “I don’t know that that’s a good idea. You’re their leader, and I’m the enemy.” She falters. “Aren’t I?”

He cocks his head. “Nah. Besides, I’ll just punch anyone who has a problem with it.”

Her stomach flutters and she pinches at it under the water, trying to get it to stop. “You can’t punch everyone you have a problem with.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Look, it’s not a big deal. We’re together most of the time anyway. And you’re not a prisoner anymore, so I won’t have you living like one.”

Beneath the surface of the water, her hands flutter around nervously. She can’t make herself look at him. “Thank you for your kindness. I appreciate it. I just don’t know if-“

“Clarke,” he cuts her off, firmly but gently, “you’re one of us now.”

Even though she’s doubtful, her body relaxes at his tone, and she smiles at the surface of the water. “Well… thank you.” She wants to ask him why he’s grown so kind to her, so comfortable and soft around her, but before she can, he’s pulling his feet out of the water and rolling his pant legs down. She digs her nails into her palms behind her back. “So I’ll just… I’ll just come find you after dinner?”

He gives her a crooked smile, his teeth flashing in the darkness. “Yeah. Find me then.”

* * *

Bellamy's room is larger than Raven's, but not by much. As he nudges the door open, he explains that he'd had a roommate once- Miller- but he'd been taken during a raid.

Clarke bows her head in shame, as if she was personally responsible for the death of his friend. "I am sorry for you loss."

He gives her a sad smile. "Yeah, I am too. But hey, it's not your fault."

"Are you sure your friend would not mind me staying in his bed if he were here?"

Bellamy huffs out a sad little sigh, and Clarke feels even worse, if possible. "I'm sure."

She finds herself drawn to a stack of books beside his bed. They all look very worn and loved, and she crouches down in front of them, tilting her head to the side to read the titles. "You read often?"

Bellamy smiles at her, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Yeah. Books are a luxury nowadays."

Clarke quirks one side of her mouth up at him. "And you keep them all to yourself?"

"Yes," he replies, not sounding the least bit ashamed, and she laughs. "I love reading. Not many other people here do. Harper does, though. And Finn. And Jackson, too, and Fox-" he cuts off as she stands abruptly. "What?"

Clarke's heart is doing that annoying thundering thing and she clasps her hands behind her back, knotting her fingers together. "I like hearing you talk," she says suddenly, her voice coming out low and serious. "I like the sound of your voice."

Bellamy flicks his gaze between her eyes. He swallows, and she tracks the movement with her gaze. " _You_  do? Or your host does?"

Clarke only thinks for a moment. "I do," she says confidently. Her heart is still beating a wild pattern against her ribcage, but she feels pleasant, warm and bright and alive. She gives him a smile that hopefully doesn't look as shaky as she feels. "Will you read to me?"

As soon as she says it, she feels like it's probably an odd request. But Bellamy just nods once, casting his gaze at the stack of books. "Of course. Pick one you like."

She crouches back down, reading the spines again. "I like art," she muses. "And science. Two things my other lives never had. Do you have anything with either of those?"

Bellamy thinks for a moment. "I don't think so, no."

Clarke's shoulders fall.

"But I could make up a story for you."

She peers up at him, her eyes wide. "Really?"

He nods. "Sure. I used to do it for Octavia all the time. She liked them."

"Well, then I'm sure I'll like them, too."

"Alright." Bellamy climbs into his bed, toeing off his shoes. Clarke settles in Miller's bed-  _her_  bed- and pulls the thin blanket up to her chin. There's candles on each of their bedside tables, and the glow makes Bellamy's face look sharp.

"Once upon a time, there was a girl who ran away from home. She felt like she didn't belong, so she went on a mission to find a world where she  _did_  belong. The first world she went to was made of stars and endless black sky and moonlight. Planets orbited her and stars twinkled at her, but there was a problem: she felt alone."

"The stars are not good company," Clarke says quietly in his pause, and he smiles at her before continuing.

"She traveled to the next world, which was made of metal and glass, and she felt safe there. Protected. She could feel the rumbling of machinery under her feet and it was a comforting sound. There were people there, but they weren't like her. After spending so much time surrounded by metal and machines, the people had become blank and empty, and nothing they did or said was ever quite genuine. She felt out of place, because she did everything with sincerity and felt everything so deeply. So she left.

"The next world she found was so beautiful that its beauty was almost enough for her to stay. The colors were so bright they made her head spin, and everywhere she looked, there was something. It was like the entire world was filled to the brim with beautiful things. She liked being with the trees and the flowers and the dirt, because they held the promise of life. She was surrounded by life, but they were not alive the way she was. They couldn't love her like she loved them. So she moved on."

He pauses to take a long drink of water, and Clarke resists the urge to ask  _what then?_

"The next world was scary. It was beautiful, but it was vast and unknowable and dark. She was immersed in water, with sand between her toes and seaweed in her hair. She was surrounded by life yet again- life that could love her back, this time- but not all of the life was good. There were many teeth and razor-sharp fins and she didn't like how some of the creatures looked at her, like she was to be preyed on. Even though she was surrounded by life, she decided to leave yet again, because she still felt alone."

"A happy ending, please," Clarke interjects softly, finding herself more attached to the story than she'd expected.

Bellamy just adjusts his pillow and continues his story. "Finally, she found her next world. It was bright and confusing and loud, and for a very long time she thought she was alone, and the thought broke her heart because she was so tired of not belonging. She was just about to leave when she saw someone in the distance, shouting to her and waving at her frantically. They didn't want her to go, she realized. As the person moved closer, she saw it was a boy, and she saw that his body was like hers. She nearly cried with relief at finally finding another soul like hers, one who felt deeply and acted passionately and loved fully. And the boy asked her if she would please stay so he wouldn't feel so alone, and she did. She stayed, and they were never apart, and neither of them ever felt alone again." Bellamy exhales deeply. "The end."

Clarke's quiet for a long moment until she realizes Bellamy probably thinks she didn't like the story. "She came a long way from the stars."

Bellamy lifts his eyes and looks at her, his expression raw and beautiful, and she feels her face grow warm. "Yes," he agrees. "She did."

His voice is rough from so much use and Clarke feels her body tingle. It's an odd sensation and she clears her throat, raking a hand through her hair to get it out of her face. "Thank you for the story, Bellamy. It was beautiful."

He looks just as wrecked as she feels, his face flushed a deep red and his lips parted slightly. The sight of him like this is beautiful, and she suddenly has to kick her blanket off because she feels too hot. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Bellamy says.

She hears him blow out their candles, and then he falls silent. She lies awake for what feels like an eternity, hyperaware of Bellamy's presence. If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was lying awake, too.

* * *

She dreams of floating beside stars, alone in the vast emptiness of space. She cups her hands around her mouth. "Hello?"

No one responds, and everything is quiet. She wills herself not to panic.  _Someone will come_ , she thinks.  _Just like in Bellamy's story_.

It's as if thinking his name summons him. The next moment, she feels a hand envelope her own, and she twists around to find herself in Bellamy's arms. He says her name, and she can feel his voice rumble in his chest. She tangles her legs in his to stop them from drifting apart and fists bunches of his shirt in her hands. "Bellamy?"

Something odd happens then: Bellamy presses his mouth to hers, their noses brushing, and she hears herself make a surprised sound. Her body's brain is unnervingly silent so she has no idea what she's supposed to do or what she's doing, but then he parts her lips delicately with his and she feels her body responding on its own.

Suddenly, she begins falling through space, slipping out of Bellamy's arms and crashing towards nothingness-

She wakes up on the floor, her blanket ensnaring her legs, and touches her fingers to her lips.

* * *

Somehow she must manage to drift off into a fitful sleep, because soon enough Bellamy wakes her. He seems more composed than he'd been the night before, but he still can't quite look her in the eye. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes," she lies, and it feels wrong to not tell the truth. "Very."

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure I heard you fall out of bed."

Clarke flushes. "So you were awake, too, then."

He looks down, his cheeks pinking. "Well, yeah," he mumbles. "After you woke me up."

"I'm sorry," she says.

He waves his hand dismissively, giving her a small smile. "Don't worry about it. Anyway, I'm sorry you didn't sleep well. I'll talk to Jackson and see if he has any sleep medication on hand, and if he doesn't we can always go on a raid and get some. Pharmacies are usually easy enough to raid because they keep all their surplus in these big trucks- your people are very trusting, you know that?"

All this had been said while he'd stood up to leave, and now Clarke suddenly very much doesn't want him to go. "Bellamy!"

He stops and frowns down at her. "What?"

Her stomach is going topsy-turvy and she feels what Raven had described as  _butterflies_. She steels herself and reaches her hand up, sliding it into the hair at the the nape of Bellamy's neck. It's soft and she winds it through her fingers, pulling his head down and guiding his mouth to hers.

He inhales sharply against her lips and she's horrified for a moment, believing that she'd made a terrible mistake, but then she feels his lips go soft and pliant against hers. His whole body seems to relax and he finds her hips beneath his hands, pulling her close. Both her hands end up buried in his hair, and she realizes that at some point their lips had begun moving against each other, soft, shy touches that melted into warmer, deeper things. She felt like she was drowning- in Bellamy, in his taste and in the feel of his skin beneath her hands. She felt weightless. If they kept this up for much longer, her body would be set alight, she was sure.

It isn't until she tugs on his hair and he groans, running his hands up her sides and making her shiver, that they part. She's breathing heavily, her heart beating so rapidly that it worries her. Bellamy's lips are dark red and swollen and his eyes are dark. She'll probably remember the look for as long as she lives.

"I-" Her voice is too high, and she stops to clear her throat before trying again. "I don't know what that was."

Bellamy's looking at her with something akin to wonder or adoration and it makes her feel shy. "It was a kiss, Clarke."

"Oh."

There's a beat of silence before Bellamy talks again, trying to hide his grin. "You've never heard of that, have you?"

She shakes her head.

His face changes almost imperceptibly, but Clarke sees it nonetheless- his eyes widening slightly, his lips parting. "Was I- was that your first kiss?"

"Yes," she says. "It was good, though."

The smile he gives her unfurls slowly, looking like it's made of sunlight, and he impulsively reaches out and kisses her again, soft and hard and sweet. She barely has time to reciprocate before he's stepping back again, his hands still on her face. "I've wanted to kiss you for so long."

"Really?" She asks in surprise, her hands moving to cover his. "Why didn't you?"

He tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear. "I wanted to make sure it's okay. I know there are things you don't understand, and I was okay with waiting."

"You are so kind," Clarke says, simply because she's struggling to think of anything else to say. She feels overwhelmed with emotions. "Your kindness is equal to that of a Soul's."

"Only because of you," Bellamy says quietly, his eyes on her lips. "You're okay with staying here, aren't you? With us?"

"Of course." She'd never for a moment considered wanting to leave. "This is my home, isn't it?"

Bellamy smiles, turning to hide it in Clarke's hand, and presses a kiss to her palm. "Yes. Yes, it is."


End file.
